Memorizing Superman
Anticipatory grief is one of those topics that can’t be understood unless you have gone through it or are currently going through it. It’s not just the looming feeling of the inevitable showing its face more every day, but it’s also the progression of symptoms from the terminal illness that cuts the wound that much deeper. I previously have written about my dad’s cancer in another entry, and it feels bizarre to be now writing about the surrealness of what his going into hospice is like. I imagine this entry is something I will look back on once he leaves and think how bizarre it is reading this too…
The word surreal is the best way to describe this moment. I will sway between wanting to pinch myself to wake up from this nightmare that is now my reality, and then trying to get it together to put on a face to make these moments engrave in my heart while he is here. I find myself feeling guilty thinking about moments that will be coming up next year that my dad won’t be physically here for. The big highlights for next year are that my brother will graduate from college and my wedding. I am sure there will be other moments I want to share with my dad next year between these big highs.
In the meantime, I have found comfort in planning an impromptu, intimate wedding that allows my dad to check it off his bucket list. After that, I feel like my subtle distraction will be gone, and the reality of what is happening will sink in much more.
The reality is, my brothers and I only have 1-3 months left with someone who is our Superman. The phrase every moment counts repeats in my head, making it often difficult to feel present. I feel guilt every time I leave the house to grab something from the grocery store, or have to run out and grab something for the wedding, or even to be outside to reground myself when I know my dad is inside the house, sleeping away the terminal pain.
I find myself scrambling for my phone to capture little moments that I foresee myself rewatching in a few months, when I am desperate to feel his presence. Lately, I have been studying and memorizing everything about him, from his scent to the features of his face, his body language, and voice. I internally ache at the idea of these details slowly slipping as I get older. I fear for the day that I can’t quite accurately recall the details that I am so desperately trying to engrave into every crevice of my brain.
I can’t help but feel the uncertainty of what it will be like when he isn’t here. I have a hard time imagining how this world will continue to spin and how life will go on once the inevitable comes. It feels as unreal as a fish growing legs and walking on land.
I read somewhere that someone said living without their loved one is like being perpetually homesick for a home that no longer exists. I think the only thing I can end this passage with is that when it is my time to go, I will feel comfort knowing I can return to my home.
“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
